Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/445875.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Rose_Lalonde/Kanaya_Maryam
  Character:
      Rose_Lalonde, Kanaya_Maryam
  Additional Tags:
      Gore
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-28 Words: 2226
****** Its Cavity And Beat ******
by gogollescent
Summary
     Rose and Kanaya have teen xenosex while on the asteroid. It goes
     pretty okay-- not that they have much basis for comparison.
Notes
     Credit for this particular xenodick iteration goes to Canada, with
     all of my love.
The first time they had sex, it was quiet on the meteor, the others sleeping or
hiding or dead. For all the carpets and the plants they had conjured to cover
the walls, there was a bleakness to the light, as if it touched the hundred
colors of the room without ever carrying color within itself. When Rose began
taking her clothes off, Kanaya barely registered the change. It was only once
Rose had shed her overdress and was fumbling with the fastenings of her soft
blue bra that Kanaya understood this to be about more than baring her skin to
candlelight. 
"I thought you would prevaricate longer than this," she said, and meant it more
ironically than it came out. 
Rose looked surprised. Perhaps she assumed Kanaya's silence could be bought by
a glimpse of her vestigial glands. 
"Yes, well," she said, "I must have overcome my scruples sometime between now
and when the last bastion of conventional morality was blasted to burning
shards by falling space debris."
"I don't see how morals enter into it," Kanaya said. 
"You wouldn't," said Rose. "You are, after all, an alien vampire preparing to
debauch a sixteen year old. You are presumably numb to ethical concerns."
"Preparing to debauch seems a little strong," said Kanaya. "I'm still waiting
for my coffee to brew."
Rose gave up on the bra and kissed her. Her mouth today was definite and dry.
Kanaya let it drift from her lips to her cheek before she moved, dropping her
head to nose the underside of Rose's jaw. "You take your coffee too weak
anyway," Rose said, a little breathlessly, and Kanaya could smell the
nervousness, rising to the surface of her skin.
"What exactly," she asked, "brought this on?" thinking of how Rose looked when
she was dreaming; how she struggled, in her bed of broken toys.
"The last three years," Rose replied.
"Okay," said Kanaya, and made a note to ask again when she was not the only
person in the room wearing a shirt. Rose could be sensitive about the strangest
things. As if she would be harder to kill swathed in orange than not.
"Also, I love you," said Rose, tentatively.
"I know," said Kanaya. She lifted her face from Rose's neck and began to undo
the buttons on her skirt. After a minute she realized Rose was gazing at her
with an unreadable expression, her eyes completely open and yet soft. "Me too,"
she remembered, feeling gauche. "That is, I likewise harbor feelings for you,
as we have on several past occasions discussed. Their mutuality, along with
your human Bingo, is the consolation of my unnatural existence." 
She was good at Bingo.
"That's very sweet," said Rose. "Were you planning to get naked sometime this
sweep, or do I need to skip ahead to Plan B?"
"What is Plan B?"
"A ray gun that disintegrates clothing, to be alchemized from Eridan's fondest
wishes and the horse guy's filthiest plans."
"I don't think Equius was hugely invested in nudity," said Kanaya. She could
hear the irritation in her voice. It was so difficult, with Rose, to know
whether the correct response to vulnerability was to indulge or to deny. If you
answered weakness with weakness she might at any moment use it to master you.
"Shame," said Rose. "He seemed like a nice corpse."
"He was more attractive at rest than in motion."
"Trolls," said Rose, fingering the back of Kanaya's hair, "don't really have
any much-toted aphorisms about speaking well of the dead, do they."
"I was speaking well of the dead," Kanaya pointed out, but Rose pressed gentle
lips to the nape of Kanaya's neck, and Kanaya understood that this was not a
conversational thread she could expect to profitably pursue. She unwrapped her
skirt from around her hips and pulled off both shirts in rapid succession,
incidentally dislodging Rose in the process; such a pity, said a little voice
inside her head, and she had no inkling of how much she meant it. What exactly
did she want? Would she prefer Rose to roll dorsally and bare her stomach like
a chastened thing? That was what her kind of monster did, in stories: take what
was offered and keep on taking after. 
She put her hand on Rose's ribs, instead, her thumb curving around the fragile
base of one cloth-encased sac. "It's amazing to me that you can orchestrate the
creation of a star and yet remain confounded by your underwear," she said,
unsnapping the clasp and slipping the straps down over the slope of her
shoulders. "You would think that the god of X-ray vision would be able to
perform quite complex operations behind her back."
"Not all of us can have a hole through our spine."
There was a silence. Rose detached the bra from her arms, but slowly, as though
unsure whether she shouldn't have been re-establishing its tenancy. 
"Is that a problem for you?" said Kanaya. "Do you prefer intact cadavers,
however sweat-sheathed? Because I'm sure we can arrange a trade with the
whimsical corpsetaker whom no one but Karkat has seen since you arrived."
"I didn't mean," said Rose.
"Neither did I," said Kanaya, and kissed her breasts, lightly.
"We're not extremely good at this," said Rose, "are we." She half-smiled down
at Kanaya, her lashes shelving flat at the corners of her eyes. Kanaya was
filled with a peculiar intensity, the kind of wave of meaningless emotion which
once she had associated with living and now she associated with Rose.
"It's our first time," Kanaya said. She set her hand on Rose's stomach to
steady herself, and then curled her fingers inside the waistband of Rose's
stockings as an afterthought, pushing her nails down against coarse curling
hair. 
"Only our first," Rose agreed, casual as the sun coming from behind clouds. In
the desert sometimes the sky would fill with thick brick-colored dust, like the
thirsty afterlife of a storm, and on those days Kanaya covered her garden with
fine cloth and waited in her tower for the clear passage of light. 
 
It went better, after that. They had already seen each other naked; had
compared genitalia between week-long rounds of Monopoly, and though the effect
was somewhat different now that they were not burying intent in fond contempt,
they were still more interested by the difference than repulsed. There was
something appealing in Rose's stunted system: the stillness of her mound, the
swollen slit. Kanaya tongued her way slowly up the inside of Rose's thigh, with
Rose's fingerprints blurring on her shoulders, and remembered her wiggler's
fantasies about the troll RL, whose bulge would have curled from the cool kiss
of air. It was better this way, though. This way the hanging strangeness
derived as much from Kanaya's species as her slow-decomposing flesh. 
"That's awesome," said Rose, when Kanaya licked at the base of her slit. At
some point they had relocated from the bench to the floor, and Rose had her
head back against the seat of the bench, her throat dragging each breath down a
muscular curve. "That's--" 
Whatever superlative she was planning was discarded when Kanaya ran the blade
of her tongue up to edge against Rose's red clit. "I think I was not made for
commentary on anything more taxing than Dave's Darwinian sports," Rose said,
weakly, and removed her hands from Kanaya's back to cover Kanaya's fingers. Her
palms were fever-warm and her fingers dug blunt into Kanaya's bent wrists.
You can't know that, Kanaya thought. You're alive, and immortal, and a god
besides; you have no idea what you were made for. She freed one of her hands
from Rose's flat grip and brought her elbow in to rest between Rose's spread
legs, used her fingers to frame the wet heat of Rose's licked-open crotch. With
tongue and thumbs she worked Rose until the other girl was squirming under her,
hips solid and jerking like a body that dreams flight.  
Kanaya sat up when she was satisfied that she had extracted all the fluids that
were likely to be exsquelched. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
Rose watched her, mouth slack, eyes still so open and dark as her sometime
shadow. 
"I didn't expect," she said, bringing up one knee to her chest. She blinked
like she was having allergies. "I didn't know that I would feel so much."
Kanaya examined her nails, modestly. It was obvious that her long research had
paid off, even in dealing with an alien. 
That, or Rose was very easy to please. 
Kanaya considered the fact of Dave, and decided to stop analyzing. Her bulge
was heavy against her thigh; she didn't want to put herself off her own hardwon
arousal. She stood up, instead, taking a few steps away from where Rose lay
sprawled, letting her hollow center shift with the pull of her legs. 
Rose rose as well, hastily, and crowded Kanaya back against the end of the
table. "Just where do you think you're going?" she said, her voice low and a
little rough. When Kanaya could muster no sultry retort, she took hold of
Kanaya's waist, just below the walls of the wound, and lifted her onto the
tabletop. "Too much?" she said, as soon as she had done so, and looked
apologetic when she said it; Kanaya thought, with hopeless anger, that no one
should be able to touch you like that and then be sorry for it.
"No," she said. "Not at all."
"Great," said Rose, and kissed her sternum, kissed the crater's ragged rim.
"You're very," she said, and her smile felt like a needle against ripped-apart
flesh, "light," and no matter how hard Kanaya rolled her eyes, she knew, Rose
wouldn't be able to feel it, wouldn't know the scrape of preserved sight in
preserved sockets. 
"A liquid diet will do that," she said. 
"It's worse," said Rose. "You see, you've sprung a leak."
"Rose--" Kanaya said, but Rose climbed up into her lap, hands braced on the
fanning muscle of her bare lower back, and swallowed her name whole from off
Kanaya's mouth. 
"Trolls," she said, "I think you like to play tanglebulge, am I right?" and
before Kanaya could comment on her hideous portmanteau she lay two fingers up
against the length of Kanaya's bulge, warm and slim. She was right, in fact,
and apparently it was not a picky organ, because it wrapped around her digits
like some fat hopeful plant. She crooked her knuckles, and the stretch of skin
on intertwined skin must have had its own dreadful gravity, because it pulled
at something soft inside Kanaya, back-to-front. 
"That's probably unsanitary," said Kanaya, and tipped back to rest flat on the
table, her legs dangling at the knee. Rose followed her down. "You incurable
romantic," she whispered, and Kanaya didn't know what to tell her, how to
explain that part of her was embarrassingly happy and part of her was so much
glowing dirt. 
"You write with ballpoint pens," she said. 
Rose extricated her hand and drew a damp circle on Kanaya's collarbone. The
light of Kanaya's skin shone off her palm; she might have been holding light,
like one of her ballpoint wizards, her bearded progeny. Kanaya's bulge was a
knot of unanswered sensation, the memory of Rose's touch almost stinging for
warmth. "I think," said Rose, "this is worth trying," and with her other hand
she gripped the root of it and brought it into tentative line with her own
soft-edged nook. "Yes?" she said, and Kanaya, trying to think, trying not to,
nodded. Rose's hair had fallen to frame her face, the tips hanging barely
longer than her nose. She said, "Excellent," and sank down onto her. 
It was a messy entrance, and shallow; Kanaya's reflexive response was to pull
her bulge back into its sheath, and she overcame it just enough to let the tip
slip into Rose. Rose rocked against her, and slowly she pushed back, bulge
straining for purchase on the slick inner walls. It got easier when Rose began
to clench whatever mysterious muscles governed her open insides, where her
wombs lived exposed to any probing artifact: Kanaya felt welcome pressure then,
hot and liquid, and she ground up against it happily.
When she was on the very edge of herself, she must have given some indication,
because Rose climbed off of her and dropped clumsily onto the bench. Kanaya
came with the freeing rush of movement, the core of her opening and opening,
and for the one green moment she was sure she would break something or simply
break; all her various holes drawn long until she split like any other murder.
It faded, as with all her sureties.
She rolled onto her side. Rose was smiling at her. Rose was straddling the
bench, her nook still wet and dark. Her navel rose and fell as she breathed.
Kanaya wanted to shake her, suddenly, wanted to make her understand that she
had too much-- she was too lucky-- to let old victims into herself, her endless
futures. But there was no way to make her believe anymore, now that her ears
were full of the alpha timeline's thready, golden pulse, and Kanaya opened her
mouth and said nothing, felt nothing, changed nothing at all. 
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